


Everybody's Got A Secret

by BinaryAngel



Series: Love Is Strange [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Bog Prince is Marianne and Bog's son, But they're both dweebs who can't tell each other, F/M, Friendship/Love, Marianne is Queen and Bog is her hubby, Mutual Pining, Years After Movie, best friends who are in love with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 07:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13429584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinaryAngel/pseuds/BinaryAngel
Summary: Decades after the events of Strange Magic, the son of Marianne and The Bog King finds himself on a journey with his best friend through the Deadlands when a storm strikes.Bog Prince has some things to say.





	Everybody's Got A Secret

_What do we conceal? What do we reveal?_

It was dark in the Deadlands, darker than the Forest of his father’s people had ever been. Even the rumble of the storm clouds that devoured the moon and the stars seemed to be swallowed by the dark.

The Bog Prince’s eyes slid to his left where Chêl kept pace beside him. Gloved fingers tightened on the edges of her cloak, pulled up in front of her to keep it from dragging in the mud, he had to admire her stamina as much as he questioned it. She was a good foot shorter and trudging through the same sucking mud he was, she managed to match his stride. Step by step. Not once voicing a complaint.

Not that she ever did voice anything.

“Ye okay?” His question did not pause her. He saw her head bob, once, as she pressed on. If Chêl spared him a glance, he had not caught it. Her eyes seemed unwaveringly locked on the path ahead of them - a path she had to know by memory rather than sight. The Deadlands were her home, after all.

_Make that decision every day._

Thunder cracked and Chêl paused. Her head tilted backwards to examine the sky and Bog Prince caught a rare glimpse of her jaw and full, berry stained lips. They narrowed, pressing together in a line of worry before suddenly she was looking at him. Her cloak slipped, the tips nearly dipping into the mud as she freed one hand to motion upwards. Her hand lowers. Sharp jabbing motions forward, deeper into the Deadlands.

 _What is wrong with me? It's what's wrong with you.  
__There's just so much I wanna say._

He understands as a fat drop of rain landed between them. Then another and another, as the deluge held at bay finally lets loose. They were too far away from her quaint home to seek shelter. The only way forward was to keep going. He nodded.

_I like to make-believe with you,  
_ _That we always speak the truth...ish._

Chêl grins. She might have reached for his hand first. He might have reached for hers first. His skin, naturally rougher due to his goblin-heritage, scraped against the soft leather gloves. She still felt warm. The chill of the tempest had not stolen her heat yet.

  _I like how we pretend the same  
__Play this silly little game, hey!_

Rain was always a blessing and a curse for the lands and the creatures that lived within them. It revalitised the plants, making them lush and hearty, and brightened spirits. It threatened to drown the fields, starve the people, and ruin wings. It gave and it could take awake.

Bog Prince had been warned the rain was different in the Deadlands, but it was Chêl’s worried gestures that made it clear to him it was nothing to be flippant about. She had been rather adamant, her hands repeating the same motions, to warn him about the rain. The rain and the predators and plenty of other things he could only guess at their meaning.

It was risky, that much he understood, and she wanted him to understand that.

And he did, but that did not stop him from joining her.

_I let the walls come down._

Bog Prince knew the risks and was not about to let Chêl face them alone. The Deadlands may be her home, but she was his best friend. Even if the rot at the heart of the Deadlands did not threaten his own homes, there was nothing he would not do for her.

_I let the monster out and it's coming after me._

The mud sucked at their feet, slowed them, and the rain weighed him down. He had inherited a lot from his father. The same icy eyes and exoskeleton. A Goblin Prince, without a doubt, but the four wings currently soaking up the water were evidence of his mother’s blood. Unlike his father’s thin, but rain resistant wings his were luminous and coloured like the dusk - and as subjective to the rain as any fairy.

It would take ages for his wings to dry out, as damp as they were now. At least he could still move them, could still possibly fly, but before too long they would become useless, heavy weights that would become irreparably warped if they did not dry properly.

It was one of the risks he accepted. He grit his teeth and carried on, ignoring the weight on his spine and the danger they posed.

_Everybody's got a secret._

Chêl stopped him without warning. Her hand left his and he suppressed a shiver when it trailed over his wings. They fluttered, without him meaning to move them, in response to her touch, but even that was weak.

Alarmed, her movement were jerkier than usual as her hands ghosted over his wings before miming something crumbling. He watched in the dark, mind racing to understood what she meant, before a fissure of something dark went through him.

Wingrot. She was worried about Wingrot. The very disease that had driven panic into the villages neighbouring the Deadlands. The first fairy who had contracted it had died, the rot seeping into their body after devouring their wings. The second was still in the throes of fever, tended to by healers who were doing their best to fight something they had no real experience with.

_I got some things to say._

 “We can’nae worry about that right now.” Bog Prince caught her hands to still them, swallowing past his fear. He knew the risks going into this. He knew the rot could try to claim him. “Chêl, breathe. You’re panicking.”

She shook her head. She nodded. Rapid and jerky, she yanked her hands away to communicate again. A fluttering hand motion. A bird? Away from herself, away from the forest. She paused and motioned north before cupping her hands.

He understood what she was trying to say, but did not move when she tried shoving him forward.

_Everybody's got a secret._

 “But ye don’t fly.” For whatever reason, she never did fly. Truth be told, he was not sure if his friend even had wings though sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of them beneath her cloak, but that could just be another colourful layer. If he flew he might be able to get to shelter before the rain damaged his wings or the rot settled in.

But he would have to leave her behind. His were too damp to bear the weight of them both.

 “Ah’m not leavin’ ye so stop asking.” Turning his back to her and her protests, Bog Prince eyed the shadows they were moving towards.  Shelter was still farther than they both liked it to be, but maybe there was something else - something revealed by the storm or fallen into place to give them refuge from the storm.

 ' _Cause there's a lot that you don't know_

Warmth dropped over his shoulders, settling an unfamiliar weight over his wings. He brushed his fingers over it. Even in the unreliable flashes of lightning he knew the garment. The cloak painstakingly created to be like no other. Layers upon layers of carefully leathered material, a hue of rainbows still carrying Chêl’s bodyheat among them, hidden beneath a burgundy so bruised it appear black in all but the brightest sunlight..

_Do you feel exposed where it hurts the most?  
_ _Can you wear it on your sleeve?_

 He had never seen her take it off. Chêl wore the cloak like it was her skin, an extension of her body. Once, and only once, he had asked about the cloak. Her arms had wound around herself, as if afraid he would force it off, before he eased her concerns long enough for her to respond.

 She had plucked at the layers, burgundy giving way to the colourful riot beneath, before she slowly raised both hands. One curled into a fist, one held straight. She punched her hand and then pointed from the straight hand to her cloak.

 A shield. A wall. The cloak was something like that to her.

  _I like to make-believe with you  
__That we always speak the truth...ish_

 His heart clenched and he pressed a hand to his chest. She had left herself vulnerable to what whatever drove her to becoming Chêl, vulnerable to the rain and the cold of the storm, giving him her shield to protect his wings.

 _I like how we pretend the same_ _  
_ Play this silly little game, hey!

 

“Chêl,” Bog Prince swallowed past the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes and

He tried not to look as he turned and reached for her. It was awkward with his eyes closed, blocking out what meagre light the storm offered, but it was the only way he could face her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him.

  
_I've got some things to say  
'Cause there's a lot that you don't know._

He expected her to protest. The storm raged on with no sign of stopping and the journey grew more treacherous. As it was, their chances of finding shelter were slim. Her hand touched his cheek, tapping his temple. Once, twice.

 Was she telling him he could open his eyes? Questioning if his brain had stopped functioning?

_Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you don’t say._

His mother had worn an infuriating smirk when she saw them off and it had driven him nuts. The Fairy Queen had spent ten minutes alone with Chêl and suddenly acted as if she knew his best friend better than he did. The women had come out of the room, Marianne’s arm slung over Chêl’s cloaked shoulders - a liberty Bog Prince himself had only recently been allowed.

Chêl had been so irritated before she followed the Fairy Queen into the next room. His mother, like so many others who met her, asked about the hood. It made her suspicious, a potential threat, and Chêl’s hand had curled into a fist at her side. Queen Marianne insisted on knowing the face of the woman she was trusting her eldest son’s well-being with and though he looked to his father for help, the Bog King had sided with his bride but stayed behind as the two women disappeared into the next room. 

Asking Chêl what had gone on between them was absolutely useless. The woman remained silent, as she always had, and shrugged. In the shadows of her cloak’s look he had seen her lips twitch and a strange smile lift the corners upwards.

  _Sometimes I wanna slap you in your whole face._

 His eyes met hers and the world stilled in that moment. Although too dark to tell the colour, her eyes had a light of their own. They glittered, reminding him of the night’s sky, surrounded by inky berry juice.

_There's no one quite like you._

 “Oh.” Witty. Eloquent. He wanted to say more, to throw something sharp her way. Ease the tension that suddenly had him in a vice grip.

  _You push all my buttons down._

 Chêl’s lips curled upwards into a grin that made his face flush against the chill of the stormy night. Bog Prince always considered his best friend beautiful. She put up with him, after all. He had ranted holes into her hut’s carpet about his parents, his grandparents, and royal duties. He had raged and she lured him into spars until until they both were in the edge of collapse.

 Never asking, never judging. She just accepted him for what he was. Smooth, delicate skinned like his mother’s people right to the slightly curled point of her long ears that peeked out of her long hair. In that moment he could believe her to be a fairy if it were not for the night sky within her eyes or the smoothness of her back.

  _I know life would suck without you._

 Of course she was as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside.

_At the same time, I wanna hug you, I wanna wrap my hands around your neck._

 Chêl tapped his nose and slipped free of his hold. Her gloved hands moved, nervous and jerky, as she tried to communicate something. He tried to follow the movements, he did, but a flash of lightning had caught a raindrop sliding over her lips and distracted him. A flash of teeth, sharp and pointed, as she grimaced at him.

  _I've got some things to say  
__'Cause there's a lot that you don't know._

 “Why ye wastin’ time?” Bog Price flicked her forehead before turning back to the path and starting forward again. “We need t’ get t’ higher ground.”

 Chêl’s hands lowered to her side as she watched him wade through the mud and water. He was right, much to her annoyance. Rain in the Deadlands was extremely dangerous. The soil was loose, easily turning into a sludge that threatened to swallow all in its path. They were still too low to rest. Higher ground was a necessity to survive the deluge.

  _It's written on my face, it's gonna be hard to swallow.  
__Everybody's got a secret._

Bog Prince had been adamant the rot at the heart of the Deadlands was as much as his business as it was hers. It may be home to her, but he argued the rot could spread and affect either of his kingdoms. It may even be spreading, caught in the wings of the fairy who strayed to far outside of their borders.

 Even if it had not posed a threat to his kingdoms, he still would have went.

  _I let the walls come down  
__I let the monster out, and it's coming after me._

 Chêl could not talk him out of it even if she wanted to. As stubborn as the Bog Prince was, her arguments had fallen on deaf ears. She had tried, though the thought of making the journey without him made her ache.

 He was all she had in the world and the thought of being without him was unbearable.

_Do you feel exposed where it hurts the most?_  
_Can you wear it on your sleeve?_

 Bog Prince saw her slip. His hand shot out faster than the fear could squeeze his heart, catching her hand before the muds could sweep her away. He pulled and the muck released her with a pop, sending her tumbling into his arms and knocking the breath from him.

 “Gotta watch your step, Miss Independent.” He found himself grinning, the dire situation and adrenaline running through his veins making him bold. “Otherwise ah may start thinkin’ ye need me around.”

_You're an asshole but I love you_  
_And you make me so mad I ask myself_

 The rude gesture made his face heat as much as the glare she shot him did. He had always liked her when she was angry, when her movements were sharp and he could swear sound escaped her - breathy little growls that might be his imagination.

 But actually seeing it, without the hood of the cloak hiding her face, sent his heart into overdrive.

_Why I'm still here, or where could I go  
You're the only love I've ever known_

His laughter followed her up the hill as she stomped through the slime. Hands balled into a fist, she really wished she could slug him, especially when he caught up to her.

 Curse those long legs of his.

 “Pixie got ye tongue?”

  _I've got some things to say  
__Cause there's a lot that you don't know._

 Insufferable lout. That was what he was. Chêl shot him her nastiest glare, baring her teeth, and his grin only widened where others had run in fear before.

 It was not a good time to be angry at him, nor was it a good time for Bog Prince to keep poking at her thinly controlled temper. Neither one of them could help, hearts thumping hard and fast enough to warm their limbs. He kept poking, goading her and stroking the flames of her temper until he heard the rumble of her growl.

_But I hate you  
_ _I really hate you so much,_

 So he had not imagined the sound before. The thought crossed his mind at the same time her fist met his cheek with enough force to make him lose his balance. He slipped and snatched her wrist, taking her down with him. The ground beneath him shifted and gave way when her weight fell into him.

 They got sucked away, pulled by the whims of water and mud that moved too quickly for them to catch their balance again without losing hold of one another. So they held on until the currents slowed and Bog felt something solid catch them. Catching his breath, he first looked to see that Chêl was alright before taking in their surroundings.

 The wild currents of mud and water had thrown them off course and backwards, but straight into the exposed roots of a tree. He scooped up his friend, pushing her up onto a shelf made by the roots before hopping up after her into the shelter they created.

  _Everybody's got a secret._

 “Ye welcome.” His words made Chêl’s mudstained face snap towards him, eyes wide and mouth parted as if she were one moment away from yelling at him. “For findin’ us shelter.”

 But she never yelled, never spoke. Even now as her hand caught the cloak, tightening around it as she leaned in close. That growl returned, stronger than ever, and he found himself laughing in her face.

 Exhausted and unable to resist, Chel’s growl faded and a slow smile appeared on her face. She gave his forehead an irritated flick but relaxed against him. Her arms slid beneath the cloak and she buried her face into its layers to listen to the still rapid beat of his heart.

 “Ah’m glad ye are okay, too.” She gave his waist a squeeze in reply. “Hey, Chêl?”

  _I've got some things to say_

 She lifted her head, the night in her eyes shadowed by long eyelashes and the need for sleep. He swallowed, his tongue feeling heavy within his mouth. He brushed brushed hair away from her face and her eyes closed as she leaned into his touch.

 “Ye look like th’ goblins after da has them muck the bog for mudroot.”

 He deserved the second punch.

  _But I hate you_  
_I really hate you so much  
__I think it must be true love_

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics, in italics, are from Pink's song - Secrets and True Love.  
> They do not belong to me.  
>  
> 
> Let me know what you think about this.  
> I might decide to turn it into a full story.


End file.
